


Greatest Fear

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 12:04:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20723921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: Prompt: Celebrimbor + Greatest Fear





	Greatest Fear

The lord of Eregion will never say so – always so guarded, using words like weapons, a dance learned step by careful step - but he’s afraid of a lot of things, these days. The thing is though, most of them have already happened. He’s afraid, for example, of being left behind. (He remembers his father and uncle turning their backs on him as the doors of Nargothrond shut behind them, and he stood his ground, hiding the tremble in legs locked like heat-fused steel, lest he shatter with it.)

He’s afraid of being too much like his father, too much his grandfather for that matter. (That’s happened too, still happens now and again, bits and pieces of his old family shining through in his face whenever he catches a glimpse of himself in a mirror, in the reflection off the sword he’s making, polishing bright.) He’s afraid of the other extreme, too, of being not enough like them; that one, he doesn’t admit so readily, doesn’t like to look at, but it’s there. That fear grew with him, practically inborn. (And yes, that one’s been realised over the years, of course it has.) There’s a balance point, somewhere between those two opposite fears, but he never quite knows when he finds it until he’s losing his equilibrium, falling to one side or the other and landing painfully.

He runs his hands over the stone parapet sometimes, and his eyes see burning walls, fleeing citizens, rubble and the dead entombed underneath. He blinks the images away; it’s another age and he’s lord of his own city now, and wants so desperately to believe that here they are safe, that things are different.

He’s lord of a city, and that brings him some comfort. Most of all, he was always afraid of being used, a means to an end. He’s seen it before, of course; he used to watch, learning, memorising, as his father manipulated people like the hammers and pliers and tongs in his workshop, using them in combination to make things the way he wanted, just so. Celebrimbor learned by observation, as he did everything he knows. And he sees it in others, too; he’s conscious of it, is the thing, and it’s second nature to him too.

(And he’s been on the other end of it; he knows he’s been used as a bargaining chip, once or twice. He remembers hearing his father and brother arguing on the other side of a wall, he remembers Orodreth counting it as a personal victory when he turned aside from the two of them, even though Celebrimbor meant it only as a personal choice. He understands, intuitively, that his own intent will not matter when the history books have had their say.)

He fears. He remembers. 

He’s not reckless, never has been. He takes risks, but they’re calculated. Bit by bit, a ratchet and pawl to eke out the power that will bring him safety. Everything’s calculated; there’s something about the stranger, some otherness to him, a threat spoken under the breath. Something beneath the surface. But he’s so tired of being afraid, of watching, of observing. This is the potential to keep his home safe, wrapped up in firelight amber eyes, elegant hands and a curving smile.

He makes a choice, deliberately; his own. He will trust, and he will push his fear aside. 


End file.
